


And I Came Knocking on Your Doorstep

by the_seaworthy_muffin



Series: Merthur Week 2020 Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Businessman Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Cafe dates, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Magic Revealed, SO MUCH FLUFF, bookshops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28212408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_seaworthy_muffin/pseuds/the_seaworthy_muffin
Summary: Arthur’s new neighbor, it seems, is a secret Wizard with no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Heaven forbid Arthur may actually be getting fond of the fool.Written for Merthur Week 2020, Day 1 - "You're an idiot." "But you love me." + fluff!
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merthur Week 2020 Prompt Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066679
Comments: 21
Kudos: 134
Collections: Merthur Week 2020





	And I Came Knocking on Your Doorstep

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for gratuitous use of the word 'idiot' and variations thereof, run-on sentences, and yes, you knew it- tooth-rotting fluff. :>   
> Disclaimer: I own neither Arthur nor Merlin. They belong to each other, and I am merely a popcorn-bearing spectator to this ride. :)  
> No beta, so all mistakes are mine! This is actually one of the favorite things I've written this month, so hope you enjoy as well!!!!!

Arthur has never, never had good luck with neighbors.

First, there was Valiant, with his creepy socks and creepier smile, whom he’d ended up punching in the face when his creepy wandering hands wandered just a bit too far. Then there was Vivian, who had attempted to woo him with lingerie stockings and called her ex-secret agent father down on him when Arthur hadn’t complied, Cenred, who had seen fit to attempt to take over their shared hallway with used delivery boxes and paraphernalia……

So. Yes, no luck whatsoever.

That is why Arthur isn’t surprised one bit when a strange, clashing noise begins to echo about the walls adjoining the next flat, day and night and day and night again. It’s horrid, it’s loud, and alright, Arthur hadn’t expected wide-eyed, endearing-eared _Merlin_ to be a berk of a neighbor of all things━ but hey, it’s tradition for a reason.

Arthur sighs, firmly clamps down on a little part of his heart that had maybe wanted to woo Merlin slowly with ridiculous soppy things like chicken legs and flowers from Freya’s shop, and crosses the corridor to knock on Merlin’s door.

There’s a huge, suspicious clatter that almost sounds like the house is coming down around them, and then Merlin’s door swings open.

Arthur gapes.

There’s a fluster creeping up on Merlin’s high, fine cheekbones, long fingers twiddling about as if in a nervous tic. His eyes are terribly blue, as always, better than any slice of summer sky Arthur’s ever seen (not that he’s spent his time imagining such things! No, slander, all of it. One listens to Morgana at one’s own peril.) and the way he tilts his head, just the slightest bit to the left, is achingly familiar for all that Arthur’s never actually held a decent conversation with the fellow.

But that’s not what catches Arthur’s eye. Merlin’s entire flat seems to be _alive_ , pots and pans whirring by just beneath the ceiling, two umbrellas engaged in a heated duel, sofa marching determinedly along on- _were those literal lion’s feet?_ \- only to collapse in a confused-looking heap upon bumping into the living-room wall.

Arthur blinks. Merlin twists, barely glancing behind him, before his eyes widen and his face blanches. He snaps his fingers in front of Arthur’s face. “Umm. Arthur. You didn’t see anything.”

“I didn’t?” Arthur asks, dumbstruck. Merlin nods rigorously, dislodging a stray clip that hums indignantly before Merlin catches it in a firm grip.

“You didn’t,” Merlin says, with a grin just about bordering on manic. “ _I’m-so-sorry-Arthur-I’ll-make-sure-it’s-quiet-again-promise!_ ”

And then the door slams shut in Arthur’s face.

_Oh_ , he thinks.

◌★◌

The thing is, Arthur is pretty sure that he _has_ seen something. And that his lovely, endearing neighbor (who he most certainly does _not_ have a secret crush on) is the modern-day equivalent of a real-life Harry Potter. Wizard. Whatever they like to call themselves. Arthur very nearly freaks out, because hey, he doesn’t want to be turned into a frog for having kept off taking out his trash for a little too long, but then he remembers that this is the man who wears silly scarves all year round and is terrified of Elevator doors (who isn’t?) and relaxes again.

Before he slips back into the grasp of _oh hell fuck no_ , because, problem: this isn’t really something you could just go and ask someone about. _Hey, uh, sorry to bother you, but- do you happen to have magic by any chance?_ _Oh, yes, I’m sure the local psychiatric ward has a spare spot or two for you……_

No. Oh, bloody hell, no.

It’s perfectly possible that Arthur had been seeing things, he tells himself. He’d been extra-stressed about that project with his uncle, after all. Agravaine trailing his every step with that eerie, hawk-like look and comparing him with his late mother every step of the way was more than enough to drive any man half off his rocker. Yes, perfectly possible. Arthur decides to wait it out. Well, he hasn’t worked up the courage to engage Merlin in a conversation of any sorts yet (excluding the customary _oh, hey, I’m new here, call me Merlin_ handshake, but really- that does not count.) – but he figures that they’ll grow close enough eventually, being neighbors and all. He’ll probably see some evidence some way or the other eventually. Then he can decide on a course of action. It’s a plan.

Yes, Arthur Pendragon is never without a plan. He smiles and nods at himself. Everything’s going to be fine.

◌★◌

Everything, it turns out, is _not_ fine, because apparently if there’s a lady of fate she hates Arthur and takes cruel delight in taking every one of his meticulous plans and twisting them into a pretzel. Three weeks, innumerable cups of tea, and also unhealthy amounts of Merlin’s shy dimpling smiles and fluttering lashes and endearing insults later, Arthur finds himself on Merlin’s (now inanimate) couch, being snogged within an inch of his life.

Arthur tenses for a split second, taken by surprise, and the first thought that races through his head is _but I still haven’t asked him about the M-word_ ━

And then Merlin’s plush lips press a little harder against his, and Arthur thinks, _to hell with it,_ and kisses him back. Merlin’s lips are bloody _sin_ , and when one of his hands come up to tangle in Arthur’s hair and _tugs_ Arthur can’t hold back the groan that’s been building up in him any longer.

Merlin pulls back, eyes bright and lips pulled red from the kissing, and asks, shy:

“Is this alright?”

“You had to bloody well _ask_ ,” Arthur growls, and pulls him back in for another kiss.

◌★◌

Merlin takes Arthur to his favorite café for their first date.

Arthur vacillates wildly between accepting and declining, because, well, for all that he’s tried to cultivate a cool-as-a-cucumber, ruthless businessman-esque image over the course of his career, he’s actually allergic to a whole bunch of things and entering a café is probably the equivalent of having a date in a weapons shop to him. But he doesn’t want to seem a spoilt prat starting with his first date, so he simply bites the bullet and goes. Never say Arthur Pendragon shirks in the face of adversity.

It’s a beautiful autumn day, a brisk breeze scattering the leaves on the broad-walk, streets dotted with earphone-bearing, book-bag laden students out with their mates, nursing cups of coffee and gesturing animatedly at each other. Merlin’s wearing a pair of ridiculous skinny jeans that make his legs seem impossibly long ( _unfair,_ Arthur thinks, almost as if he bloody knows what kind of havoc those wreak on Arthur’s mind) and a garish red scarf that trails behind him like a tail. It’s an outfit that should never work, that ought to make Morgana groan and rip at her hair in frustration, but it somehow _does_ and Arthur doesn’t think he’s going to survive the day.

“Hey,” Merlin says, shy smile hanging about his lips, and darts in to leave a quick peck on the tip of Arthur’s nose. “You look good.”

Arthur flushes all the way down to the roots of his hair. “Me too. No, I mean, you too. You look good. Not that think I don’t. Umm.”

Merlin tilts his head back and laughs, and though Arthur should by all rights be affronted he isn’t.

“Come on, handsome. I think we have a date to fulfill.”

.

_The Wizard’s Corner_ is a small shop tucked near the end of the avenue, hanging onto the corner of the street like some haphazard, pastel-toned barnacle. The windows are framed in cheery white wood, striped red-and-yellow awning fluttering above the cream-colored façade, of the shop, and when Arthur pushes the door open a bell that’s shaped like a wizard’s had jangles out a greeting. Arthur can almost believe he’s back in Quebec, twenty again, young and ready to fall in love. (Except, well, he’s pushing thirty, quite the dignified gentleman, thank you; and soppy thoughts like this most definitely do not suit him.)

_Oh, no,_ Arthur thinks. _What if he’s doomed to turn into a girl’s blouse like Morgana’s always teasing him about?_ Morgana will be bloody unbearable, all evil cackle and dancing stiletto heels and obnoxious wafts of perfume. Then Merlin grins at him, gesturing at him to take a seat, and all conscious thought leaves his brain in a rush of _oh hell yes_.

Merlin drinks a Frappuccino with so many toppings Arthur can’t even begin to recite half of its name, because that’s apparently what he calls his ‘happy juice’. (Arthur has to wonder for a moment if he’s taken up with a junkie. But no, _Mer_ lin of all people could not possibly be a drug-lord: with his total lack of finesse, Arthur is pretty sure he’d have ended up in prison by now.) Arthur orders a cup of plain Americano, decaf. He’s already buzzing with nerves and he’s pretty sure adding caffeine onto that is a certain recipe for disaster.

“You know,” Merlin says, humming happily around his mouthful of cream and pure sugar with a dollop of coffee-flavor, “I’d figured you’d be more of an Espresso sort of person.”

Arthur blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Merlin’s lips slide into a knowing grin. It’s not a good idea, _no sir_ , because the lighting of the café highlights his dimples _just so_ and there’s only so much a man can take before he bloody explodes. “Mr. I’m-so-serious–and-intense-posh-businessman Pendragon? I mean, that was sort of the logical step for me.”

Arthur gapes. “You aren’t supposed to insult people on first dates.” He scrabbles very hard for a spark of indigence he somehow doesn’t feel. “Also, how do you know I’m a businessman? Maybe I’m- I’m- a salesclerk who works in the seediest part of town. Maybe I have to bow and scrape to customer’s whims every day.”

“Armani slacks. Briefcase. Watch worth more than my bloody salary,” Merlin rattles off. Arthur winces. That _is_ actually a good point. “Oh, and where do you work, O great detective?”

“Hmm, let me think━ 221B baker street? Nah, that was a while ago……”

Arthur chokes. “Please spare me of any more of your jokes,” he groans. Merlin pokes at him with the tip of his shoe. “Spoilsport. Though, if you must know, I work in a bookshop. Not so far from our flat. It specializes in rare and archaic books.”

_Oh_. That actually isn’t what he’d expected. Merlin raises an eyebrow at him, waving an admonishing finger. The corner of his lip keeps twitching up, though, which doesn’t really go a long way towards maintaining the overall effect.

“Haven’t you ever heard you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover?”

“Pot, kettle, black,” Arthur retorts, suppressing a grin of his own. “You know, I may actually be a impoverished jobless man neck-deep in debt. Maybe I used up my entire fortune to buy myself a watch.”

Merlin’s eyes widen in an expression of mock-innocence.

“You know, good sir, my flat may just have a box-room to spare……”

“Stop that!” Arthur groans. “Don’t do that, _Mer_ lin, it makes you look like a fool.”

_Shite._ He shouldn’t have said that. Morgana always said he was fine as long as he kept his mouth shut, didn’t make a prat of himself…… he hates to admit that she’s right, because he always disagrees with her on principle, but━

To his utmost surprise, Merlin begins to laugh.

“See,” he says, smug as a cat that got the cream. “Royal prat.”

“Idiot.”

“A lovable one, though.”

Merlin’s cheeks color a little bit at that. Arthur bites his lip, feeling his heart give a gigantic thud somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

“Don’t be silly, Merlin,” Arthur says, licking lips that suddenly feel terribly dry. “The front half obviously refers to me.”

◌★◌

“You know, about the day we met,” Arthur says, one day, because for all that he doesn’t care much whether Merlin has some secret or not anymore (to be honest, he thinks he’d still be besotted with the damn fool if all his hair fell out and his tongue turned blue, though it might be a little difficult to kiss him in that state.)- the question sits like a nagging vestige of guilt in his chest, and he would very much like to rid himself of it. “Did I-“

Merlin’s eyes flutter open and his lips part. His hand flies up to his right ear, tugging a little. Arthur is well aware of the fact that it’s one of the tell-tale signals that Merlin is about to lie through his teeth. He’s not even a _good_ liar, the bloody fool.

“Umm, you know. I’d been…… reorganizing.”

“Reorganizing?”

“Change your living quarters about every so often━ someone as posh as you would know, though, wouldn’t they?”

Merlin smiles up at him, tentative and teasing, and Arthur hisses out a curse. “Don’t _look_ at me like that.”

Merlin runs a foot up the side of his calf, smile turning coy. “But all I did was look your way, Arthur,” he says. “Can’t a man even look now?”

Arthur shuts him up with a kiss, and that’s that.

◌★◌

Arthur gets the answer to his question a lot faster than he’d expected. There had been rumors about the little avenue tucked into the side of their building being haunted, and Arthur, because he couldn’t have his employees all abuzz with talk of the supernatural and whatnot when there’s _work_ to be done, had decided to take that way home Tuesday night. Call it demonstrating a point if you will. _Ah, well, the things duty demands of us._

It actually does feel haunted, though, cool and oppressive and damp, and when three bricks miss nailing him with a hair’s breadth in rapid succession even Arthur’s heart is beating a little faster.

He could even swear he’s seen a pale flicker out of the side of his eye, if he concentrates hard enough. _Get a grip, Arthur. You’ve not been raised a Pendragon to shirk from rumors of a ghost._

And then something that feels like a pair of cold, damp hands clamps onto his wrists, and above him, a particularly large, wide crowbar teeters and falls at speeds that _cannot_ be natural towards his head.

Arthur doesn’t even have the time to blink.

_Merlin, he thinks. I haven’t even_ ━

And then all of a sudden Merlin is _here._

There’s a flash of bright, scintillating light, so strong that Arthur has to blink away black spots from his vision. A wave of sheer power washes over his head, terrifyingly potent and yet warm, like Merlin’s worn quilts, Merlin’s pumpkin tarts and scrambled eggs and tea with a dollop of milk, filling and reassuring like a tight embrace.

Merlin’s voice shouts out a series of words that Arthur can’t quite decipher, and there’s another flash and a bang, the last vestiges of something cold and slimy and vicious washing away like the last dregs down a drain. Arthur fancies he’s even heard an enraged, otherworldly scream.

Merlin turns, hand still outstretched, eyes wide and swimming with golden light, and then the light fades and he’s Arthur’s Merlin again, all shy cheekbones and fluttering lashes and wringing hands.

“Arthur!” he exclaims, and makes as if to hug him before drawing back at the last second. There’s a guilty look in his eyes, and he’s nibbling on his lower lip furiously. It takes a truly herculean effort for Arthur to tear his eyes away from the sight. “Fancy meeting you here. Umm, I was on- a walk?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly. “You were?”

“Yes! And, uh, practicing my Latin conjugations. You know, I do that sometimes. Shout out my conjugations. Because it helps jog my memory.”

Arthur nearly faints. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to be so nerve-shatteringly powerful and idiotic at once. Because Arthur knows two things, now: one, his boyfriend of a month is officially a wizard, and apparently quite a terrifyingly capable one at that. And two- you couldn’t find a bigger idiot if you tried.

_Latin conjugations indeed._

“You- you-“ Arthur clamps his mouth shut, opting to shake his head instead. “You,” he breathes, “are an _idiot._ ”

The smile that breaks out across Merlin’s face is possibly the most dazzling thing Arthur’s ever seen.

“But you love me,” he replies, the wan light of the street-lamps dusting his high cheekbones with shadow and highlighting his dimples in orange-gold. Arthur huffs out a breath.

“Seems like it,” he grumbles. “Heaven knows why.”

“Oi!” Merlin nudges him in the shoulder, mock-serious. “Be nice.”

“Oh, but I _am_ , aren’t I?”

“Prat.”

It evolves into a shoving match after that, but if they walk all the way back to their flat with hands held tightly together, no-one comments on that.

◌★◌

Arthur collects, through judicious dropping of eaves on Merlin’s phone conversations with someone called Gaius, that secrecy is something of a big deal in the sorcerous world. That, in turn, leads to Arthur running about trying to cover Merlin’s trails in all things magical━ but bloody _hell_ , that is not as easy as it sounds. Arthur is quite literally amazed that Merlin hasn’t managed to out himself to the whole wide world by now, careless idiot that he is.

“The gas must have been faulty,” Merlin says guiltily, after successfully saving Leon’s flat from an evil pixie takeover. (Don’t ask; Arthur isn’t that too sure either.) However, the downside is that it’s resulted in some scorch marks on the neat hardwood floors as well as a permeating scent of smoke that just won’t go away. “You know, I’d heard it’d been going about in the city for some while now. Quite a widespread problem, that.”

Arthur sighs, thinking that he must really be hopelessly besotted if he thinks Merlin’s clumsy lying skills are endearing, and makes a mental note to call Leon to whine about his flat’s (nonexistent) gas problems later on. He’s got to have Merlin’s back for him, after all. Ha. _Quite a widespread problem_ , indeed.

◌★◌

Arthur begins a second career as Merlin’s sorcerous press-liaison after that. Which means: namely, watching in the shadows as Merlin lies his clumsy way through covering his magic, and then stepping in, straightening out the corners, turning his boyfriend’s half-arsed excuses into something with the possibility of actually being halfway believable. It’s a full-time job, and bloody exhausting to boot, and if he hadn’t been annoyingly in love he would have said _to hell with it all_ and run away already.

Heaven knows why Arthur hasn’t, yet; he’s certainly been tempted too many times to count.

One of these times is the Will incident.

Will is Merlin’s friend from grade school, brawny, rough-spoken, and inherently distrustful of anything with two legs that moves. ( _Yes, that does include the entire human race_.) Arthur takes an immediate dislike to the fellow the moment he scans Arthur from head to toe, lip curling as if he’s smelt a bucket full of rotten fish, and drawled out: “My, you’re a _posh_ one, aren’t you?”

It’s nothing Merlin hasn’t said before, except somehow it’s about a hundred times worse, and Merlin’s firm hand on his hand is the only thing stopping him from throwing a punch then and there. Still, as Merlin’s unofficial Sorcerous Press Liaison™ (Arthur is going to make a name-card, he swears), he can’t possibly _not_ trudge along when Merlin says he has to go “help Will with some trouble.”

Merlin’s _trouble_ , coupled with that characteristic shifty glint in his eyes, is practically slang for _sorcery_.

It turns out the trouble isn’t anything unmanageable: Arthur has learnt that, for all his idiocy, Merlin actually seems to be quite capable as a sorcerer, and there’s quite little he’s unable to _manage_. An infestation of water sprites had hogged up Will’s bathroom, spraying the poor sod with ice-cold water whenever he’d stepped in to take a shower.

Arthur is almost tempted to stop Merlin from getting rid of them- the man would obviously benefit from a good cooling-down, after all- but Merlin, giant bleeding heart that he is, steps forward to help at once. By the end of the day, Will’s bathroom is quite thankfully sprite-free, but Merlin has to conjure up a cyclone to sweep the lot of them out of the window, and the result is water and wind-swept knickknacks everywhere.

Merlin, the bloody _idiot_ , doesn’t even try to explain himself. _No sense of self-preservation whatsoever_ , Arthur thinks bitterly, stepping in.

“Well,” Arthur says, “That must be all, I suppose. Said you were quite new to London yourself, didn’t you? You must not be used to London’s sudden windstorms- we get random concentrated cyclones in our flats, sometimes. Better be ready for that.”

Arthur ought to be ashamed at how easily the ridiculous excuses spring to his lips nowadays. But, well, Merlin is a gigantic idiot of a sorcerer with no instinct for secrecy whatsoever, and one must do what one must. Confidence is half the battle, his father would say; Arthur has found those words truer than one may think.

Will blinks very slowly, taking a step back.

“Yeah,” he says, in a tone of voice that implies very heavily what he thinks of Arthur’s mental health. “Think I might have heard of that before, mate. You said- random giant wha’?”

“Random giant cyclones. Believe me, I’ve lived in London since before I was even born-“ Merlin is calling for him near the doorway, something inane about Chinese takeout and rainy weather and how he’d better get his arse over right now so they can get a good head-start against the six o’clock wave on the tube. “Yeah. So. See you around?”

Will just stares at him.

Arthur simply grits his teeth, plastering on his best fake-business-smile. Gods, the things he will do for this man……

_Oh, if he only knew. If he only knew._

◌★◌

One might ask Arthur why on Earth he hasn’t told Merlin he _knows_ yet. And the answer is, Arthur isn’t that too sure himself. A sure part of it, though, is a petty spirit of vengeance: it rankles Arthur that Merlin doesn’t trust Arthur enough to out his secret to him, and a nasty, perverted part of his spirit cackles gleefully whenever he catches Merlin getting all adorably flustered, what with his nonexistent lying skills and all. The other parts of his heart simply shake their head, sigh, and commiserate amongst themselves in guilt. Because, yes, Arthur’s keeping a secret now, too, and it makes him feel horribly, horribly guilty in a way he’s never experienced before.

He’d never _had_ to keep a bloody secret in his life before Merlin came along. Oh, that hapless idiot. It’s a miracle Arthur’s fallen for him in the first place.

◌★◌

“Dollop-head,” Merlin says, as Arthur steps into the welcoming dimness of _the Wizard’s Corner_. Arthur shakes himself off, careful not to let any of the rain-drops fall onto the precious old tomes. Rain is all well and good- you can’t settle down in London without having made peace with it- but Arthur _hates_ winter rain with a passion. It’s suspended somewhere between sludge and water, sticking onto his coat in wet cold clumps, and it melts into freezing-cold rivulets from hell when Arthur tries to brush it off.

“Huh?” Arthur asks, wondering if he’s heard something wrong.

“Dollop-head,” Merlin repeats, grinning widely. “It has a good ring to it, doesn’t it? I think it would make a wonderful insult.”

“You’ve been thinking on how to better insult people,” Arthur says, at loss with what to say. See, some days Merlin seems actually _wise_ , knowing just what to tell him, how exactly to go about things. He isn’t terribly well-educated, seeing as he’d dropped out of college, but he _is_ exceedingly well-read, and for all that he isn’t one for big words a lot of what he has to say is actually worth listening to. And then he goes and does something like this and Arthur is reminded in a painful crash: Yes, he is in love with a Fool of a man.

Merlin shrugs. “Passes the time, doesn’t it? And, you know, I don’t really swear. That puts me at a disadvantage when I want to get into a fight with someone. I have to be creative, you know.”

_Ah_. Arthur isn’t sure whether him getting used to Merlin-logic is a good thing or a sign of approaching idiot-dom. “And what meaning,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow, “does this most creative insult entail?”

Merlin grins cheekily. “In two words?”

Arthur shrugs. “If you must.”

“Well, if that’s what you want: _Arthur Pendragon_.”

Merlin flourishes Arthur’s name with a ridiculous impersonation of his high-brow accent, and it comes out like someone speaking with a bunch of rotten sardines shoved under their nose. Arthur chokes, face turning red. “You don’t _get_ to insult me like that! You- you-“

“I?” Merlin says, and Arthur jabs a finger at him.

“You- _clotpole_!”

Merlin gasps, mock-affronted. “And what does _that_ mean, good sir?”

_Darn._ Arthur quickly combs his brain, but no witty retort makes itself known. “It means- it means you’re a pole made of clot.”

Merlin laughs out loud at that. “And dollop-head means that you have a dollop for a head, does it?”

“Of course-“ Arthur pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Wait. Why are you making me defend your inane insults anyway?”

“Oh, because clotpole is so much better than dollop-head?”

“Of course. I made it.” A pause. Arthur’s pleasantly warm now, the dry warmth of the bookstore’s air filling Arthur’s chest in a pleasant burn. He angles himself towards Merlin. “ _Clotpole._ ”

Merlin chokes. “Dollop-head.”

“Clotpole. I win.”

“Oi!”

Maybe he ought to be more wary, Arthur thinks to himself. Merlin’s idiocy is obviously rubbing off of him. He probably should remedy that before something direr happens. Well, no one knows what they may run into in life, do they? Always better to be prepared.

◌★◌

The thing is: Arthur has actually gotten _used_ to magical attempts at his life after he’s met Merlin. He’d freaked out at first, because hey, evil Sidhe out for his blood is not Arthur’s usual cup of tea, but Merlin’s a bloody magnet for trouble and it’s an unfortunate fact that Arthur can’t seem to make himself want to ditch him for all that.

By the time Arthur and Merlin had had their second-month anniversary, Arthur has it down to a form of science. One, stay calm, don’t panic. (Thinking of Merlin really hard in his head usually seems to help.) Two, do not acknowledge that you can actually see your assailants (apparently _mortals_ usually can’t, whatever that means) – and wait calmly for help, never-mind that a set of very persistent hands are intent on ripping his hair out and turning him prematurely bald. Three, once Merlin arrives for the rescue, smile, agree that _no, he hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, why?_ ━ and then help clear up whatever magical absurdity Merlin’s concocted this time around.

However, Arthur has never been attacked while he’s with Merlin, which is why the whole thing takes him entirely off guard.

It’s a slimy swamp-creature of some sort, shaped like a giant glob of stale Jell-O, murky brown and pungent as that set of Leon’s year-old socks. (Don’t ask.) It also seems very, very intent on gobbling up two tasty intruders that have happened to wander into its territory, practically trembling with glee as it half-lurches, half-slithers over towards them at a surprisingly speedy pace. Slime trails behind it like a grotesque carpet.

Arthur is the first to react. Merlin stands wide-eyed, hands trembling at his sides, and from the looks he keeps shooting Arthur the idiot is actually worried about hiding his magic now of all times. _Of all the times to try and keep a secret_. Arthur grits his teeth; this is most definitely _not_ how he’d wanted to go about this, but he’s no choice: it’s face his boyfriend’s wide sad betrayed eyes or die, and━ _shite_. It isn’t such an easy choice when you put it like that. Merlin has a pair of eyes on him that would make a baby seal jealous.

It’s a split-second decision.

“Merlin! Use your magic!” Arthur yells, dodging a glob of mud-looking slime the monster’s lobbed at them. Merlin gapes.

“Wha━”

“Magic! You know, the stuff that makes your eyes go gold and your furniture go crazy?” Arthur yelps. It should be illegal for magical monsters to be that bloody agile; the bastards have got a large enough edge over him already, you know, _magical powers_ and all. Which, apparently, in this particular case includes the ability to lob mud-balls that stink like nobody’s business with unfortunate accuracy.

Merlin’s face goes white as a sheet, eyes going wide. Arthur grimaces and yells in his best _I-am-your-boss-Listen-to-me-right-now_ voice that all in HR knows to obey and fear.

“Merlin, I don’t care if you set it on fire, freeze it, bloody blow it up- do it! _Now!_ ”

Almost as if on autopilot, Merlin’s hand comes up, fingers outstretched, and his eyes glow gold. There’s a resounding _boom_ , a shockwave that almost looks like it’s in slow-motion, and Arthur is drenched in what he’s pretty sure must be the remains of one late swamp-monster. And goodness, if that isn’t the vilest thing he has ever smelt-

“Burning might’ve been better,” Arthur says in an effort to bring some normality back to their conversation. Merlin, furious, glares at him.

“You! You knew all along!”

“I…… might have?” Damn it, Arthur Pendragon does _not_ do nervous, but that nagging bit of guilt has grown to a bloody piranha somewhere along the road and it’s busy gnawing away at his gut like crazy. _Never seemed like a good time_ doesn’t seem quite the adequate explanation in the face of Merlin’s raw emotion, lower lip trembling, eyes churning with some emotion Arthur can’t quite place, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Merlin jabs a finger at his chest.

“You,” he says, “are a bloody _idiot_. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Ah. Arthur reaches tentatively out towards Merlin, and when he doesn’t step away in disgust, quirks his mouth upwards into what he hopes passes as a hopeful grin. “But you love me anyway?”

Merlin lets out a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he says. “Apparently, the fact that you’re a secret-keeping, idiotic _prat_ of a man doesn’t really change anything. Heaven knows why.”

“Secret,” Arthur says, giving Merlin a pointed look. Merlin winces. “Okay, maybe it’s not my place to be upset about that.”

Arthur nudges Merlin in the side, as they begin to make their way side-by-side to their flat, walking in companionable silence. “So. Doesn’t change a thing? Hmm, wonder what those things may be?”

“Dollop-head,” Merlin says fondly. “Don’t push your luck. I might decide to turn you into a pig.”

“Oink,” Arthur says, scrunching up his nose. Merlin gasps with laughter and hits him on the arm. “No, Arthur, stop that! I don’t think I can afford breaking down laughing after all that- _Arthur_!”

◌★◌

“Soooo,” Merlin grins, snuggling under the covers. Arthur yelps as Merlin’s cold feet come into contact with his legs; it’s almost as if the man puts his feet in the freezer for this exact purpose. “Seems like I’ve had a secret protector.”

_Oh, no._ Arthur has a very bed feeling about this. He pushes down the flush that threatens to rise high on his cheeks and attempts to look Stoic. From Merlin’s snort, he doesn’t seem to have been very successful.

“Secret protector?” he asks, in the most nonchalant tone he can muster. Merlin nods, wrapping himself up in the (their! Arthur can hardly believe it, but _theirs_ , now) sheets. Merlin is an impossible contradiction all unto himself, all surprisingly soft skin and hidden angles, and he fits against the curves of Arthur’s body as if he’s been melded for this exact purpose.

“You know, apparently someone’s been calling Leon every three weeks to complain about their flat’s _faulty gas_. And send a letter to Will about how London is plagued by random concentrated cyclones every once in a while. And tell Gwaine, no, it’s perfectly fine to have believed you’ve seen things, because you have, too, must be the _hallucinogens in the air_ ……” Merlin’s voice cracks halfway through, and he dissolves into helpless chuckles before long. “Arthur, you were aware that Will’s known my secret for, like, forever, yeah? Pretty hard to keep secrets like this when you’re a hapless magical toddler.”

“Shite.” Arthur curses. No wonder the bloke had looked at Arthur like he’d gone mental━ _random concentrated cyclones my arse_. “I should’ve figured- you didn’t even try to hide what you were doing! And here I was thinking even you couldn’t possibly be that idiotic.”

Merlin snorts. “And you’re so wise yourself, yeah?”

“Of course.” Arthur nods solemnly. “I’ll have you know it’s written all across my face. In bold. There’s a reason all my employees look upon me with respect, you know.”

Merlin’s gaze softens, full lips sliding into the playful grin that Arthur’s come to know and love. The morning light frames his high cheekbones and tousled hair, sending little fragments of light scattering across his nose and the edges of his eyes. “Oh,” he says, pulling back to study Arthur’s features closely. “I don’t think so. I think what I see is━ _Royal Prat_.”

“Oi!” Arthur smacks Merlin with a pillow. “That’s the stocks for you!”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin smiles, fluttering his lashes coyly. “Will there be no beheadings today, sire?”

“No idea,” Arthur grumbles. “Heaven knows you tempt me enough.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. You love me.”

“I do,” Arthur says, then snaps his mouth shut. _Damn it, it’s- he didn’t mean to get_ -

Merlin snuggles into him like a kitten, sharp nose digging into his chest in a surprisingly pleasant pressure. “Don’t be such an emotionally constipated git,” he says, matter-of-factly. Arthur looks down at him, helplessly annoyed and fond. _This man_ , really……

They lie in companionable silence for a while, the faint ticking of Arthur’s bedside clock the only sound to break it. Merlin’s breath smells positively vile, there’s drool cooling on the pillows somewhere, Arthur’s boxers have twisted themselves into some otherworldly pretzel overnight and seems to have gained a mind of their own. (Objective: strangle Arthur’s leg to death, or probably something reasonably close.) It’s not perfect━ hell no, horribly far from it- and yet Arthur wouldn’t wish for anything else.

Slowly, he runs a hand down the back of Merlin’s head, relishing the ticklish slide of springy, soft curls against his calloused palm. There’s something helplessly fond in his chest that keeps expanding and expanding, and Arthur is almost afraid he’s going to burst like a piñata.

“It wasn’t for you, you know,” Arthur says. “All that _protecting_. I didn’t want another headache on my hands, is all.”

Merlin snorts against his chest. It sends a huff of warm breath up his shirt, and Arthur clamps down on the urge to cuddle in and enjoy. “That’s not why and we both know it.”

“Nuh-uh.” Hells, Arthur probably sounds like some spoilt five-year-old but he doesn’t care. Merlin smiles up at him, impossibly fond. His eyes match the slice of sky outside the windows of Arthur’s flat, glinting with good humour as his lips slide into a playful, dimpled grin. “Spoilt prat.”

“Idiot.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” Arthur pauses for a moment, smiling in wonder. “Yes, I think I do.”

[ _The End_ ]

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to participate in this year's Merthur Week!! :D It is my first time, though, so if I'd made any mistakes please let me know and I shall see to it immediately...... I am very very excited to see what everyone creates, and you wouldn't believe how happy the fact that the Merlin Fandom is still alive and kicking (after all these years!) Makes me. :)  
> Please drop by and leave a comment if you've enjoyed- they are the fuel of my daily life. (Aside from a healthy dollop of good fic, of course. XD)


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